


To Break, Slowly

by acidicshortcake



Series: Kinktober 2k19 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blindfolds, Bondage, Kinktober 2019, Knotting, Lowkey Brainwashing too, Memory Alteration, Mind Break, Monster Beastiality, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidicshortcake/pseuds/acidicshortcake
Summary: A surprise encounter on the battlefield leads to an imprisonment that doesn't seem real but will haunt Eirika all the same.Written for Kinktober 2k19. [ Day 2 - Begging, Knotting, Choking ]





	To Break, Slowly

The loss of a pivotal battle is one harsh. Defeat sinks its way into her flesh and bones, leaves something painful in the pit of her heart as the call for retreat drops from the skies and pushes the soldiers under her command away from the monsters that continue to tear up the very land before them. How many lives have been lost? How many more must be put on the line another time to make up for this upset? Which familiar names and faces will she add onto the list of the dead this time, crushing and reforging her own spirit to ensure that she can’t back away from the horrors of war and leave their sacrifices in vain? 

Eirika’s heart jumps and twists. Would one of those be her brother’s? 

A frantic gaze shoots left, snaps right. Ephraim’s nowhere to be found, and neither are Kyle and Forde. Seth, too, has disappeared among the fray. Soldiers are scattered, pulling back in a rush. She should be, too, but her gut is plagued with a bad intuition, and she can’t bring herself to leave just yet. For even Seth to be out of her sight like this shakes a pillar of certainty that she notices only in the moment; she can’t ignore this. 

Resolved and eyes steeled, she turns her horse back towards the center of the fray, determined to pass on a message that may not have made it to her twin. With Sieglinde gripped tightly in her hand, she storms off to find Ephraim and the knights.

What she finds instead, partway into her search, is a different sort of relief. 

“Lyon!” 

Hope blossoms in her chest as that gentle face turns in her direction. Her mind is flooded with thoughts. Ephraim’s still out there in who knows what kind of danger, but Lyon’s right before her with only a spellbook in hand. Even seeing him is a relief she’d thought she’d never grasp; she’s longed for this moment for too many moons to count. She rushes forward, nearly deaf to the quiet train of thought in the back of her mind that wonders why he’s here, of all places, where vicious monsters roam and aim to tear apart anything in their sight. Lyon’s no combatant—he’s far too gentle, and though he’s always been capable, his specialties and heart has always lied in magic—and yet before her, he is unscathed, while she bears injuries only temporarily healed for the sake of pressing forward. It rings something strange and silent in her thoughts, but Eirika pushes it aside; for what reason would she have to question the safety of one so dearly cherished?

“Eirika...” 

She barely hears his voice over the sudden wisp of wind, cloaked in softness as it is. Her horse halts harshly, rearing back in alarm as confusion scrambles Eirika’s mind. Before she can so much as attempt to calm the steed, a flicker of light underfoot catches in the corner of her eye. It doesn’t allow her a moment to think; in a flash, darkness surrounds her and swallows her attempt at a scream.

When she next opens her eyes, a different darkness keeps her blind.

Her mind is weighed down by sluggish goo, making it hard to think. Even without being able to see (something must be covering her eyes; it’s soft but thick enough to block even shadows), everything around her feels off-balanced, like she’s spun too many times in a circle and can barely walk straight. Ephraim used to make dance practice into a game like that, she remembers vaguely; it doesn’t help her any now, when she’s trying to find her bearings. Her limbs won’t respond but she can sense how her knees dig into solid ground, and everything feels disconnected. A tiny, distressed feeling scratches at the back of her throat until it manages to form a sound. 

There’s no voice to answer her, but there are footsteps. They echo—is she no longer outside? The thought tugs at others as if pulled by a web, all but confirmed by the stale air she breathes in. She had been outside, on the field of battle, trying to find Ephraim. Instead she found... she found... ?

A pain throbs in her head. She groans, nearly missing the dark chuckle that somehow sounds familiar. She can’t seem to place it, somehow. Nothing about it gives off the impression of being trustworthy, though; it sends an uncomfortable chill scrambling down her spine. 

Rattling metal assaults her ears; it takes a moment to recognize it as chains, but knowing doesn’t give her time to prepare for the sensation of something cold harshly constricting around her throat. Eyes wide but sightless, she can only cry out, gasping in lieu of words. Even as she thrashes against it, it only grows tighter, as if something’s being pulling—it dawns on her why she can’t  _ move  _ as her wrists remain trapped somewhere above her head, and it sets her heart rushing in a spiraling panic. Immobilized and helpless, her eyes burn and water, pain and fear coming together in a terrifying swirl as she struggles to breathe. She lets out a choked sob, instead. 

_ Ephraim... ! _

“Watch carefully, foolish prince.” The voice is distorted when it reaches her ears—it feels unnatural. “Witness all the ways in which the woman you love can break apart.” 

It should strike terror into her heart, and yet it doesn’t quite breach the fuzzy haze that starts taking over. Her struggles lessen; her gasps grow shallow. 

The pressure crushing her throat lessens in a sudden reprieve. Eirika’s tears fall the moment she draws in a deep inhale, coughing and wheezing as air fills her burning lungs. That dizzying feeling from before is worse, leaving it near impossible to grasp any sense of what’s happening—even still, she manages to form fragile words.

“Who... Why are you... ?” 

“You waste your breath on such insignificant questions. Does the need to place a name to your fate erode your capability to beg for your life? Or has your pitiful conscious given in before we start?”

That laugh comes again, all but dripping toxin. As she regains her sense of self, she notes that it’s not the malevolent sound of the Moonstone that grates against her ears. It’s something else, someone different; she doesn’t like how a part of it pulls at her in a way that feels hopeful against her will, and yet she can’t quite attribute such awful words and actions to anyone she might know. Have the voices of bandits become so blurred to her that they would all sound the same, even without the aid of her eyes to determine such? It may be the only answer, but  _ that _ doesn’t feel right, either. 

“Are you... one of Grado’s soldiers?” She tries when she’s able; with nothing but her words, she does all that she can to create a way out. “Please, if we can just talk—”

Something makes a creaking sound that cuts her off. Without warning, her arms are released from her bindings, sending her to the floor in a moment of shock; Eirika gives a small sound of surprise at the suddenness, but wastes no time in reaching up to remove the blindfold and restore her sight. She tugs at the tight knot buried under her hair in a haste that only grows more desperate the more she fails. Something isn’t right—is it bound by magic? No matter how she tries, the material won’t give enough to slip her fingers through and release her. It makes no sense.

“Why won’t this—”

The metal chain around her throat jerks again, harshly yanking her forward. Even as she catches herself on her hands, the course feeling of stone grating against the heel of her palms, her head spins. It doesn’t last as long as it had before; she’s granted the space to breathe after only a few moments, but something else shoots ice through her veins.

A howl. Deafening and close, belonging to the throat of a beast she’s aided in slaying many times by now. Her heart stops, her body locks up, her hands shake. 

_ A mauthe doog? Here? Now? I can’t—! _

Her venture in restoring her vision is abandoned in favor of frantic searching the ground around her. Her ankles are still bound, spread just apart to leave her kneeling, but if her captive had any decency to leave something that could be used for defense—

It’s a foolish hope, one dashed when the chain tightens once more, (as if forcing obedience, she thinks in a daze) and the snarling of the beast is close enough that she can feel its presence in the room, giving her a vague and terrible sense of the space around her. Its growls shake her to the core; a million thoughts flash in her head, of regrets and fears and promises she hasn’t fulfilled. She thinks of Seth, of her father, of Tana and of Ephraim—of all those dear to her heart that seem so far away now that death hovers over her shoulder, dwarfing her frame. 

Her lips tremble, but she can’t bring herself to scream, even when she whispers, “Please!” 

The answer to her plea is a wicked cackle of pure amusement. Her heart sinks into her stomach. 

Seconds pass by too slowly, as though time itself seeks to draw out her torment, knowing the inevitable. Even as the man allows the metal to slack, breathing comes difficult as the monster shuffles around, taking steps that she strains to place and yet fears all the same. She’s hardly moving in spite of her body’s shaking, on her hands and knees in some unknown place with a beast and a man who seems to have all the intent in the world to bring her to her demise. Time ticks more and more; a dismal thought still wonders what would drive one to do such a thing, for even now there are horrors that she finds hard to fathom.

Heated breath on her skin forces her eyes closed, her fingers curling into her palms as the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She can only hope it’ll end quick, in the same merciful way she always sought for her enemies. 

But it doesn’t end at all. Of course it doesn’t. 

Eirika’s voice cracks in a cry as claws catch on her sides, tearing through cloth and leaving light streaks of red running down her flesh. Her heart pulses in her ears; before she knows it, there’s a weight atop her and rough fur tickling the bare skin of her back and the curve of her rear. Something impossibly hot touches the sensitive flesh between her thighs and she jerks, eyes springing open wide in horrifying realization.

“N-No—! You couldn’t mean to... Please, something like this, I can’t—!”

“Which will tear first—your body, or your mind?” The musing is idle—it’s as if everything is as normal as the sun on a clear day; she feels ill. “How will that voice sound when screams start rending her throat? Your dearest Eirika will soon put on a performance beyond that of any other—pay attention, Lyon!” 

She wonders if time has truly stopped, or if it’s simply her sanity caught in a tangle. In the gap that leaves the world around her feeling distant, Eirika can only afford a quiet “Lyon?” before the mauthe doog bucks its hips against her slit and her head goes blank. 

Pain takes hold in flashes of white behind her eyes. A scream rips through her chest, but she can only hear the ringing in her ears as she’s stretched open by what could only be the monster’s cock. Its heat melts her mind and body from the inside as it thrusts wildly, leaving her breathless and choking out sobs as she tries to steady herself against it. The size alone is more than enough to be  _ too much _ ; its ruthless, animalistic pace as it fucks her pushes it beyond so, and it’s all she can do to hang her head and dig her nails into her palms as she tries to hold herself together. The laughter that meets every word that falls nonsensically off her tongue—she isn’t thinking through them, only barely registering the syllables of “please” and “stop” and “too much” spilling from her own broken voice—does little to piece reality together. 

Maybe she doesn’t want it to, if the reality means she’s left in a strange place, being watched by a man she doesn’t know (and Lyon—is Lyon there? She can’t bear to ask or consider it, not now) as she’s made into a monster’s debased plaything. 

With each thrust, it feels as though the beast steadily intensifies its assault. As it goes on, the searing ache that’d torn through her body starts slipping away, until its cock slides into her instead of forcing through—until her clenched fists are no longer so, and her raw throat is no longer run through by screams. She’s left panting instead, her lips wet with a sheen of gathered saliva. 

She thinks she hears the man say something. She thinks she hears her name slip between the gates of degrading words. She thinks she hears a pained sound that isn’t her own, and yet none of those things are what forms something solid and heavy within her. 

_ That beast... No... Why is it starting to feel... How could it possibly...  _

The moment a bitten-back moan slips from her lips, a part of Eirika shatters. 

She gives in on keeping her upper half raised; her partially-clothed chest touches cool stone, and she can only whine instead of wondering where her armor went. Her head rests against her forearm as her hips raise slightly—to make it a bit easier, she convinces herself. When it’s already gotten like this, making anything more difficult only spells out more troubles for her instead of the beast itself; yes, like this, perhaps it can all finish sooner. 

All it does, instead, is allow that wretched cock to instead begin knocking into a spot that leaves her whimpering in a way that only fills her with utter and absolute shame.

“I don’t,” she gasps aloud, hardly aware that she’s gone outside of her own head. “It can’t—Something like this is—” 

“Is  _ this _ what you’ve always dreamt of, little prince?” She doesn’t know why, suddenly, his words come loud and clear; has he come closer, or is she simply going mad? “To hold the heart of a wench that would moan for the cock of a beast?”

If only she had it in her to protest. Eirika can hardly bring herself to when that same throbbing cock begins to  _ grow _ inside of her, building a mind-numbing pressure that seems to overtake the entirety of her body. Her lashes flutter behind the blindfold, eyes nearly rolling as it begins to fill her with hot, thick pools of its seed; heat pools low in her belly, as though reaching for the cock buried so far within her, pushing her body to its limits as it waits, unwillingly, on a precarious edge. 

The knot swells to a point that nearly feels impossible; the moment the beast sloppily thrusts into her a final time, forcing its knot between her walls and snatching her voice out in a drawn-out cry, her body gives into climax.  She hears cackling as her consciousness fades to the sensation of being terribly, inexplicably  _ full _ as the mauthe doog’s cock throbs, flooding her with so much that she feels its cum spill down the insides of her thighs. 

Almost distantly, she feels herself brought to orgasm a second and third time—and perhaps even more, until the frantic sound of her name reaches her ears and brings her down from her high. 

The sun is bright enough to burn her eyes when she opens them; a pain throbs in her head. Eirika groans, nearly missing the relieved sigh that comes from a familiar voice. 

“Your highness!” 

She blinks a few times, slowly, as she turns an empty gaze towards the sound. 

“Seth...? How are you...?” 

Exhaustion clings to her like an insufferable weight, but Eirika attempt to pick herself up from the ground regardless. There’s grass between her fingers and an ache that echoes throughout her bones—she can hardly remember  _ why,  _ but she knows that something is off . Seth’s strong and steady grip is aiding her in a flash; she’s in his arms atop his horse before she even knows it, well aware of his worried questions and yet not registering any of them. 

“What happened?” he asks. She can hear the strain of control under the sternness of his voice. “The sacred relic as well as your horse were found far from here, and those wounds...” he glances lightly at her flank and she follows, blinking at the claw-like scratches that have left her clothes in tatters.

She looks up and stares at him, wordless as his eyes bore into hers. His brow furrows in distress.

Finally, she offers, “Lyon... was Lyon here?” and in a rare moment, Seth’s composure falls. His eyes widen as if caught off guard; the arm curled around her back, supporting her, tightens. 

“I will bring you to Princess L’arachel with haste,” he says, voice low and almost soft. “I fear your injuries may go beyond sight alone. We must hurry—my apologies.” 

She wants to question it, his apology, but he pulls her close and commands his horse before she can manage. The jostling against her backside, as mitigated as it is by his hold, stirs a strange heat within her. Her legs press together; her core throbs weakly as she unknowingly licks her lips. 

When her breath hitches and her body trembles from a shallow, untouched climax, she dodges Seth’s questioning look by burying her face against him. She hides the flush that warms her cheeks as a strange phantom feeling haunts her thoughts; she can’t help but wonder if the slick sensation between her thighs is truly the work of a strange dream, or if the blank in her memory suggests something more. 


End file.
